


Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away

by Swordy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesiac Dean, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, POV Outsider, Post-Purgatory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Everyone deserves a little kindness, Dean.”</i>
</p>
<p>Outsider POV. Sam has sprung Dean from Purgatory, but the experience has changed his brother forever. Retired from hunting and in the throes of a breakdown, Dean finds himself miles from home with no recollection of how he came to be there and, more importantly, how to get back. Cue a kind soul and a little Christmas spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, because I do everything at the last minute and I really wanted this posted before Christmas Day (with three hours to spare!). This story is a gift to my friends list, particularly thruterryseyes and siennavie who have made my experiences in fandom this year particularly awesome. It’s also for justmep2, who has been just lovely and for becc_j who is still patiently waiting for my Reverse Bang Story and I'm massively excited to be working with. I hope you’ll all enjoy this shamelessly feel-good festive tale. Title taken from ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ because, you know, someone with a pretty nice voice covered it recently. ;)
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone!

She’s been in work about an hour when she sees him.

There’s nothing significant about him, and his presence doesn’t really register until another hour has passed and she realises he hasn’t moved. It’s cold out and only going to get colder, and yet he’s sitting on the steps leading up to the abandoned brownstone dressed only in a t-shirt, khaki over-shirt and jeans. 

Now her curiosity is piqued, she watches him for a moment. Her first thought is he’s stalking someone, and she glances around at her customers to see if anyone has been in here the same length of time he’s been sitting out there. There’s no one though; the last-minute Christmas Eve rush is in full swing and most of her customers are here for a quick coffee and a warm before dashing back out into the cold, hands full of gifts, preparing for more.

The other reason she drops her stalker theory is that he’s not watching anyone. He’s not watching _anything_. He’s staring at nothing, and she’s reminded of the thousand-yard stare she’d seen in a documentary on soldiers and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after the conflict in Iraq.

As the day moves towards twilight, her concern for him grows. The temperature continues to drop; when she steps outside to put some boxes in the dumpster her breath swirls in the air before her. She mentions him to her colleagues, who nod and say they’ve seen the stranger too. None of them seem unduly concerned though; homeless people aren’t uncommon round here, after all. 

Glancing out the window as she takes a patron’s order she makes a decision: when she’s due her break, she’s going to go out there to him. She tells Tash, who shrugs and says ‘it’s your funeral’.

Thirty minutes later, she pulls on her coat and steps outside, clutching a coffee in a takeout cup. It’s a short walk across the narrow street and if he notices her approach then he makes no indication. Now she’s here, she’s not exactly sure what to say so she stands for a moment, hand that’s not holding the drink jammed in her pocket against the cold. Up close, she figures he’s in his thirties and, startlingly, he’s extremely attractive.

“Hey,” she says eventually, watching as the reflection of fairy lights dance across his features. Slowly, his eyes rise to meet hers. She holds out the cup.

“Here. I thought you looked cold.”

It’s a lie because he doesn’t look as if he’s even noticed that it’s freezing. It’s like he’s disconnected to the world, unaware of anything except that which exists only in his own head. Wherever he is, it’s clearly much more temperate than here.

For several long moments the cup remains in her outstretched hand. Just as she’s debating whether to put it down next to him and leave, he reaches for it and mutters a barely audible, ‘thanks’.

Emboldened by this apparent success, she sits down next to him even though she’s unsure why she’s so determined to help. Hell, she doesn’t even know if he _needs_ any help.

“I’m Alex,” she says with a friendly smile.

He studies the cup in his hands for what feels like an eternity. His brow is furrowed, as if he’s unsure of his own thoughts. “I’m... I’m Dean.”

She doesn’t ask for his last name; coming up with his first seemed hard enough.

“You’ve been here a while, Dean. Are you waiting for someone?”

It appears this is another question that he can’t readily answer. He looks genuinely bewildered, and for a moment she feels bad for asking because she’s not trying to upset him or stress him out. She’s starting to think her initial reaction – that he somehow needs help – is the correct one. However, she also knows that in order to help him, she needs to know more about him.

Eventually he shakes his head, although it’s impossible to tell if he’s answering her question or just despairing of the fact that he possibly doesn’t even know the answer. She tries a different approach.

“Look... it’s really cold and you don’t even have a jacket. I work at the diner across the street, so why don’t you come back with me? You can drink the coffee and at least get warm. If you _are_ waiting for someone you’ll be able to see them arrive.”

She stands up, glad to be off the cold concrete. He hesitates for a moment, then stands up too. He’s tall, she realises, as he towers over her a good five or six inches. The sleeves of his khaki shirt are rolled up, and she spots a long, jagged scar running almost the entire length of his forearm. She swallows hard, briefly wondering whatever has possessed her to engage with this stranger.

“So are you from around here, Dean?” she asks as they cross the street together. It’s an attempt at polite conversation to fill the awkward void and, given his previous difficulties, she’s not really expecting a response. He stops suddenly, looks up and down the street like he’s seeing everything for the first time and inhales sharply. His eyes grow wide.

“Where is this? I... I don’t know where I am.”

His reaction seems only a short step away from full-blown panic. She holds her hands up in placation because she doesn’t want him to run, even though it would undoubtedly make her life easier.

“You’re in Scottsville.” No reaction. “Wyoming?”

“ _Wyoming?_ ”

Clearly it’s not the answer he was expecting. She reacts instinctively to his horror by placing her hand on his arm. He tenses up instantly and for a split second she thinks she’s about to regret the action for however much life she’s got left.

“Dean?”

Her voice seems to reconnect him to the moment and the danger passes. 

“Come on,” she says gently. “Let’s get you inside.”

OoOoO

Fortunately there’s an empty table by the window. She guides him to it, aware of the curious stares from her colleagues.

“Do you want anything to eat?” she asks him once he’s seated. He shakes his head, then seems to remember himself as he looks up at her. “No... no thanks.”

“Okay.” She gives him a friendly smile. “Just give me a shout if you need anything.”

He doesn’t respond, so she takes her leave. She’s heading for the counter, unzipping her jacket as she goes when Tash grabs her arm.

“Alex! What the hell are you _doing?_ You know Stan will go apeshit if he finds out you’re bringing homeless guys in here!”

She frowns and glances around to make sure no one can overhear them. “What’re you talking about?” 

She follows Tash’s gaze over her shoulder to where Dean is sitting, staring into space. The coffee remains untouched on the table in front of him. 

“He’s not homeless,” she says quickly, even though she doesn’t know that for certain. “He’s... I dunno. He’s confused, like he’s got amnesia or something.”

Tash rolls her eyes. “Homeless, amnesia, whatever. I still don’t see why any of this is your problem.”

“I never said it was.” She glances back at him again. Fortunately he’s oblivious to the conversation taking place about him. “I just think he needs a friend right now.”

Tash snorts. “I’ll remind you of that when he’s murdered you and chopped you up into little pieces.”

“Your optimism is refreshing,” she replies, ignoring the fact that she was considering the same thing only moments earlier. 

“Yeah well, I still think you should show him the door or just call the police and let them worry about him.”

She ignores her colleague’s dire prophesies and goes back to work. It’s easy to keep an eye on him as she hurries back and forth, taking orders and bussing tables. Fortunately, Stan calls to say he doesn’t think he’ll be back tonight, so she doesn’t have to explain why there’s a person occupying a table, even though he hasn’t spent a single dime. 

When the rush eases a little, she goes over his table. She’s conscious of the fact that they’re eventually going to close and God only knows what will happen to him then.

“Dean? You okay?” she asks as she slides into the seat across from him. “Look, I’ve been thinking. Have you got a cell or your wallet on you? That might help you remember stuff.”

He slowly checks his pockets and shakes his head. She thinks.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?”

He starts to shake his head again, but stops abruptly. She’s alarmed by the anguish that replaces the blankness. 

“Sammy,” he says so quietly she almost doesn’t catch it. It’s clear he’s not speaking to her when he says it.

“Sammy? Who’s that? A friend?”

“Sam... Sam is my brother.”

This is good – well, it’s a start at least. “Okay. Can you remember his number? I can give him a call for you.”

More anguish. “I don’t... I haven’t.” 

He’s getting worked up again, but she’s even more determined not to lose him now. “Tell me about Sam. Is he older or younger?”

Dean frowns, like he wants to be certain his answer is correct before he gives it to her. “He’s younger by... five years, I think. I call him Sammy even though he says he’s too old for that name now.”

It’s the longest sentence she’s heard him say yet. She needs to keep him talking if she’s to stand any chance of helping him find his way home and clearly this is a good subject to pursue. 

“Oh yeah? So how old is Sam?”

“I... I don’t remember. He’s so tall. Dad always said he was going to be tall...”

His memories are fragmented and she suddenly feels out of her depth trying to piece them together. Maybe Tash is right; maybe she should just call the police and let them take over trying to work out who this man is when he doesn’t appear to know himself. She tries again.

“I’ve got a brother, Josh. He’s my twin, actually. He’s really tall too,” she says with an encouraging smile. “What else can you tell me about Sam? It sounds like you’re close.”

“He’s smart,” he replies, and the pride in his voice is obvious. “He always wanted to go to college. I knew he’d get into Stanford. He’d have made a lawyer, no sweat.” His face darkens suddenly. “But then the fire...”

“So he doesn’t go to Stanford now?” she asks.

He shakes his head, but his expression is unsure again. “No... I don’t think so. I think he goes to school, but... not there. Shit, I don’t know. Why can’t I remember? Sam’s better at shit like this.”

He looks away so she reaches for his hand tentatively. 

“Dean. Will you let me help you find Sam?”

“Why... why would you help me?” he asks, frowning, and it’s clear that he’s confused by her request. She wonders what could have happened in his life to give him so little self-worth.

She shrugs and smiles. “Call it Christmas spirit.” 

She leaves him shortly afterwards because it’s clear she can’t get any more information from him without exacerbating his distress. The truth is he’s given her very little to work with, but she’s resourceful and determined. When she gets a moment, she fires up Stan’s computer and hits Google. 

A couple of minutes later she’s listening to a phone ringing out. When it picks up, she launches into the spiel she’s mentally prepared, hoping that she doesn’t fall at the first hurdle because, frankly, this all sounds crazy. She introduces herself and breathes a sigh of relief when she’s told that Professor Kane, Head of Legal Studies at Stanford University is still in his office. He picks up on the second ring.

“Oh... uh, hi. My name’s Alex Stryzewski; you don’t know me, but I really hope you might be able to help me.” She explains about the stranger and how they’ve crossed paths, before she moves onto why she’s telling him all this.

“I think he’s got some kind of amnesia, but he told me about his brother, Sam. He says he either attends Stanford or did in the past. He thinks he might have left now, something about a fire.”

“Okay,” Professor Kane replies. “Do you have Sam’s last name?”

“No. He can’t remember. Sorry, I know that doesn’t help.”

“Anything else that _might_ help me identify this mystery Sam?”

“I’m guessing here, but I think he might be around thirty years old. And he’s apparently really tall,” she adds lamely, knowing how ridiculous it sounds. She’s expecting the professor to hang up or laugh, but instead he makes a thoughtful noise. 

“Well, Alex, you’ve posed quite a tricky challenge there. I’m fairly certain that your Sam isn’t a student here currently. There’s only one Sam that springs to mind and it’s definitely not the person you’re looking for.”

“Oh? How so?”

She can hear the smile in his voice as he replies. “Because _that_ Sam is female.”

“Oh.” 

“I’ve only been here a couple of years myself so I’ll be honest, your clues aren’t ringing any bells. However, one of my colleagues is still in the office. He’s been here almost fifteen years so he may know the person you’re looking for. If you give me your number, I’ll call you back if I find anything.”

She thanks him and gives him the number, even though she’s almost certain she won’t hear back from him, as polite as he is about trying to help. It’s Christmas Eve for God’s sake – people generally will have better things to do. Outside it’s starting to snow, and she thinks about having to send Dean back out into the cold without answers. She Googles the numbers for a couple of homeless shelters, just in case. 

Standing up, she can see out the door and into the diner. He hasn’t moved and the coffee still sits untouched on the table in front of him as people bustle around, caught up in the fever of the festive season. She wonders if he even realises that it’s Christmas tomorrow.

She’s lost in that thought when the phone rings on the desk beside her.

“Hello?”

“Miss Stryzewski? It’s Jonathan Kane, from Stanford. I think I may have something for you. It’s not a lot, but it might be of some help...”

Five minutes later and she’s anxiously clicking refresh on her email account. Her heart jumps a little when the email finally appears and she’s clicking on the attachment, cursing Stan’s antivirus software when it takes a lifetime to confirm that the jpeg is safe to open.

And then suddenly, she’s faced with the person Professor Kane had called to tell her about.

_His name was Sam Winchester. He was here at Stanford until 2005. Excellent student by all accounts, scored one seventy four on the LSAT, which is an extremely high score. Would have had the pick of law school places, but he dropped out when his girlfriend was killed in a fire in their apartment. Electrical fault apparently. His friends said he left with his brother and they never heard from him after that._

She stares at the face looking back at her. She’d hoped when the email had said there was a photo, she’d see an instant likeness between ‘Sam’ and the troubled man sitting out front, but it’s hard to see a family resemblance. Still, the circumstances fit so she prints off the image, hopeful that it can spark some further recognition given that they still don’t have any actual contact details for him.

As she leaves the office, Tash catches hold of her by the arm. 

“Hey, are you planning on doing any work today?” Tash asks, but there’s no real heat in her words since she’s a self-confessed slacker. Then she notices the paper. “What’ve you got there?”

As she explains what she’s learned, she can tell Tash is interested, even though she’ll profess not to be. Tash is seventeen and far too cool for things like this. Despite this, she can feel the weight of her workmate’s gaze as she heads back over to where Dean is sitting. He’s worrying at the scar on his arm as he stares at nothing.

“Dean?”

She’s almost about to say his name again when he turns to look at her. She smiles, nervous with anticipation and takes the seat across from him again.

“After the stuff you told me before, I did a little detective work. Is your brother’s name Sam Winchester?”

He frowns, mentally toying with the name like it means something, but it’s not quite right. His response isn’t what she’d hoped, but she pushes on anyway.

“I spoke to someone at Stanford, who emailed me this.” Pausing, she slides the picture across the formica tabletop towards him. “He wondered if this was your brother.”

“Sam,” Dean breathes, his eyes going wide. He touches the picture almost reverently and she knows with all certainty that they’ve found their man. She’s not prepared when he suddenly fixes her with a look as hard and cold as stone.

“Where did you get this?” he growls.

She sits back, alarmed by the instant shift in his mood. A quick glance confirms that Tash is watching the exchange and she can only hope someone will ride to her rescue if it becomes necessary. She figures honesty is the best way to respond.

“I called Stanford and spoke to a professor to see if he knew your brother. He didn’t, but a colleague thought this might be your Sam. Dean, I’m trying to help you find him.”

Another shift, this time confusion. “But why? I don’t get why you want to help me.”

“Everyone deserves a little kindness, Dean.”

His anger flees completely and he covers his face with his hands for a moment. When she sees him take a long, shuddering breath she wonders if he’s trying not to cry. Her heart reaches out to him; he’s clearly unable to comprehend that he’s worthy of her compassion, which makes her even more determined to help him.

“Dean,” she says gently. He slowly uncovers his face, his emotions in check once more. “The professor _did_ confirm that Sam’s not a student at Stanford anymore so we’re no further on with finding him that way. You seem pretty sure that he is at school though, so we need to try and work out where that is.”

She studies him during the pause and is relieved when he nods. 

“Okay,” she continues, “We need to think about this carefully. You said he would have been a lawyer and the professor said your brother’s plans were to go onto law school. Is that still what he wants to do?”

“Yeah... I think so.”

She’s pondering her next question when he continues. 

“I told him, ‘you gotta go, Sammy’, but he said he didn’t want to.” He pauses and makes an irritated face. “I know it’s ‘cause he thinks he needs to look after me, but I’m not a goddamned kid. So we compromised," he continues, looking at her suddenly. "Sam goes back to school, but we get a place together off-campus." 

"So you didn't want to study?"

He snorts. "Me? I've got a G.E.D - didn't graduate high school."

He's fascinating to talk to; occasionally, like now, he's sure and his recollections are crystal-clear before he reverts to hesitation and pained confusion. She wonders if he's sustained some kind of head injury.

"Dean? Can you remember _anything_ about where you live?"

He frowns, brow furrowed in thought. "There's a couple of bars... And a diner, but the food's not so great... the pie’s terrible. And there’s a bookstore."

She tries not to show her frustration. "Okay. Sit tight and let me know of you think of anything else, okay?"

She slides out of her seat and is about to walk away when she hears a soft huff of laughter. 

"Sammy thinks I don't know the real reason he chose it." 

She hesitates, daring to hope. "Which is...?"

"He found it in some stupid 'least haunted towns in America' list." He laughs again and shakes his head. "Crazy, huh?"

She doesn't reply even though she's inclined to agree. Suddenly the sensible, dependable 'Sammy' sounds as potentially unhinged as the man in front of her.

"Sit tight," she says again, then walks away.

OoOoO

"So what's up now?" Tash asks, glancing up from where she’s loading cups into the dishwasher. 

She sighs wearily, resting against the countertop, her face cradled in her hands. "I dunno what to do. I'm trying to help the guy but he's just...”

“Batshit?"

"Confused," she corrects, glaring. 

"The college thing was a bust then?"

"Yes and no." 

She explains about their conversation - how they'd found the right 'Sam' but it hadn't taken them any closer to actually locating the man. She closes her eyes for a moment, wishing she'd taken the morning shift after all. When she opens them, Tash is watching her expectantly, her pen and pad in hand. When she doesn't immediately respond, Tash rolls her eyes impatiently.

"Tell me again what he told you," she says, tapping the pad for emphasis.

"And then?"

"My brother's a computer nerd. If anyone can work out where your mystery man's from it's him." Tash shrugs. "He owes me a favour."

She's never met Tash's brother, but the thought of someone else offering assistance is a welcome one. 

"That'd be great. Seriously.”

Tash goes into the office to use Stan's phone to call her brother once they’ve run through everything Dean’s told her. The conversation drifts through into the kitchen: it's occasionally heated and for a worrying moment she thinks it's a 'no', favour owed or otherwise. Eventually Tash reappears, scowling.

"God he's an asshole at times."

"Will he help?" 

"Oh yeah. He's an asshole, but fortunately he's an asshole who's good to his word."

"Thanks, Tash. Let's pray he comes up with something."

Collectively their attention turns to the stranger out front. He’s so still it’s almost possible to believe that he’s not real.

“He’s not bad looking... for an old guy,” Tash says.

“ _Old?_ You know your thirties isn’t old, right?”

“Old enough.”

For all her teenage logic, Tash isn’t wrong about his attractiveness. It’s easy to study him from this vantage point and admit that, under different circumstances, she’d have happily flirted with him, and not just for the purposes of securing a healthy tip. 

Then someone on a table across from him drops a spoon, which clatters loudly on the tiled floor and he jumps like he’s been shot. When she glances at his expression, it’s not shock or fear though: it’s murder, and she’s reminded that, despite all his confusion and vulnerability, there’s something dangerous about him. He wears it like a well-worn jacket, a second skin that fits him so closely because of regular and repeated association. 

Her heart quickens and for a split-second she fears she’s put innocent people in danger from this man. Then the moment passes and he seems to retreat into himself again. She knows Tash has seen it too.

“My brother says he’ll call as soon as he’s got something,” Tash says, presumably in an attempt to reassure the both of them.

OoOoO

It feels like an age before Tash comes to find her to say her brother has been in touch. In reality it’s only about half an hour, but the constant worry that she has invited a powder keg into her place of employment makes time move with agonising slowness. 

She listens to Tash’s information with a growing sense of hope. Tash’s brother is apparently certain he’s located the town and, therefore, the two potential schools that Dean’s brother might be attending. Evidently it’s a hell of a favour he owed his sister as he’s also provided a list of useful phone numbers.

“Dylan’s certain this is your town,” Tash says, stabbing the paper triumphantly with one finger.

“Why’s that?”

Tash grins. “Well aside from the other details that seem to match, there’s a diner that’s got _really_ shitty reviews on Trip Advisor.”

They look at each other for a second before they both burst out laughing. 

OoOoO

Armed with Dylan’s research she has to decide on her next steps. The obvious thing would be to ask Dean, but given that an actual photo of his brother didn’t help all that much she’s inclined to try the phone numbers first. She glances at her watch, which cements her thinking. If she leaves it much later, the likelihood will be that people will have gone home and her calls may go unanswered.

She heads into the office, while there’s a lull in customers. She sits down at the desk and dials the number for the first school. She then explains the situation to a doubtful sounding admin, tells her she has a photo she can send and pleads with the woman to speak to someone, _anyone_ , who might be able to identify this potential student.

The admin’s clear reluctance puts a sharp dent in her optimism, made worse after three further calls also yield nothing. She dials the fifth number with a heavier heart. It rings and rings and she’s about to put the receiver down when a breathless voice answers.

“Professor Dalton speaking.”

She’s thrown for a moment, but quickly recovers and launches into her spiel. She’s not even finished giving him the whole story when he gasps and his next words spill out in a delighted jumble.

“You found him, oh thank God! Alex, you said your name was Alex, right? Look, I need to call Sam – he’s worried to death – so if you can give me your details...”

There’s obvious surprise when she tells him where she is. He checks he’s got everything he needs to know, then makes her promise that she’ll stay close to the phone as he’s going to ring Sam, who will almost certainly want to speak to her. 

They end the call and she sits, cresting the wave of adrenaline as she waits anxiously for the phone to ring. The professor doesn’t disappoint – it’s less than three minutes before it rings on the desk beside her hand. She snatches up the receiver.

“Hello?” 

“Hey. Uh, is that Alex?” The voice is male and _does_ sound worried to death.

“It is,” she replies and suddenly she’s grinning. “It’s _really_ good to speak to you, Sam.”

“My brother,” he says, all in a rush. “Dean. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he’s just... confused. He can’t remember how he got here or where he lives. He told me your name, but trying to find you was like trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces missing.”

“Well, I _really_ appreciate that you kept trying,” he says and the obvious gratitude makes her blush. 

“Look, Alex, I’m gonna set off now. I’m really sorry to ask anything else of you when you’ve done so much already, but is there any chance you can make sure he stays where he is until I get there?” 

“I’ll try,” she says, hesitantly. “But it’s at least a five hour drive-”

“I’ll be there in four,” he replies and, somehow, she believes him.

OoOoO

She’s finding it impossible to suppress her smile as she heads out front. Tash sees her and knows straight away something good’s happened.

“Holy crap, did you _find_ him?” Tash asks.

Alex grins. “I did, well, _we_ did. He’s on his way now.”

Tash looks genuinely pleased. “Are you gonna go tell him?”

Her elation is tempered slightly by concern. “I don’t know. His brother’s at least four hours away and he wants me to try and keep him here.” They both turn to look at where he’s sitting - the beautiful statue in the window. 

“If he’s calm and quiet then I might leave it a little longer.”

Tash nods. “Did his brother say what’s wrong with him?”

“Uh... no.”

“And you didn’t think to _ask?_ ” Tash asks in amazement.

Alex scowls. “You can’t just ask people things like that, Tash. It’s called tact. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Screw tact,” Tash replies dramatically before they collectively turn to watch him again. “So we’ve gotta babysit him until the cavalry arrives?”

Alex sighs, hoping they don’t fall at the final hurdle. 

“Something like that.”

OoOoO

An hour passes and, during another lull in custom, she goes to sit down across from him. He looks so unhappy and _lost_ that she decides it’s time to tell him that she’s found his brother.

“Dean?”

He looks tired too. She smiles, hoping she’s about to lift his spirits.

“I’ve got some good news for you.”

He attempts a smile too, but it’s humourless and sad. “Good news, huh? Don’t get a lot of that.”

“I’ve found Sam. _Your_ Sam.”

His face creases in confusion. “You... you’ve _found_ him?”

She grins now because it’s the kind of story you tell people and they almost certainly think you must have exaggerated some or all of the details.

“I had some help, and we took all the stuff you told me, worked out where you might live, then we found some schools close by where Sam could be studying, then I started to call them. I was on the fifth one when the professor I spoke to knew exactly who I was talking about. Sam was already looking for you.”

Rather than looking impressed, he suddenly looks pained as he drops his head into his hands.

“I’m such a fucking burden,” he says, and it’s clear he’s angry, but he sounds so weary that there’s no real heat to his words.

“ _Hey_ , he’s your brother, he loves you,” she replies, having to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, because she’s no idea how he’ll react to the gesture.

“I’m sure you’d do the same for him, right?”

“I’d die for him,” he says, then, more to himself, “Hell, I _have_ died for him.”

She ignores the strange comment because he’s obviously got psychological issues, even if it’s not immediately obvious what they actually are.

“Yeah, well, he’s on his way so just sit tight, okay?”

He studies her for a moment, before giving her a quick nod. She takes her leave with a quick glance back at him. _Hurry up, Sam_ , she thinks. _He needs you here._

OoOoO 

Sam calls again two hours after their initial conversation. He’s in the car and making good progress, but he’s clearly still anxious.

“How’s he doing?”

Alex nods, even though he can’t see it. 

“He’s okay, just quiet. I’ve tried to give him something to eat but he’s just... staring. I told him you’re on your way; he’s worried that he’s a burden to you.”

Even over the engine noise, Alex hears Sam’s deep sigh. A little of her curiosity finally bleeds out.

“Feel free to tell me it’s none of my business, Sam, but it sounds like he’s done this before.”

Sam responds, but it’s clearly hesitant. “Yeah... a couple of times, but he’s never gone so far before, or he’s taken his phone so I can use the GPS to find him if he won’t pick up.”

She’s just about to ask him another question when Tash bursts into the office.

“Alex, you need to get out here _now_.”

Shit. So much for calm and quiet.

“Sam, I’ve gotta go.”

Sam’s obviously heard Tash and the urgency in her voice.

“What’s going on?” he demands. “Is it Dean?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I’ll call you right back.”

She heads out of the office, her heart in her mouth. Dean is standing in the middle of the diner and has appeared to have created some kind of blast radius around him as everyone at the neighbouring tables has moved away and they’re all wide-eyed, looking at the man with danger in his eyes. 

“What happened?” she asks Tash, her eyes never leaving the shitstorm that’s now brewing in the middle of her place of work.

“I dunno,” Tash replies, similarly transfixed. “He overheard some lady talking, then jumped up like he’d been electrocuted or something.”

“Did he say anything?”

“I think he yelled ‘Alistair’. I guess that’s what he overheard the lady saying and then he freaked out.”

She’s trying to decide what to do when the decision is taken out of her hands. Dean turns and stalks out of the diner.

“Thank God for that,” she hears Tash mutter under her breath, but all she can think is _no, Sam’s counting on me not to let him go._

She runs out the diner after him, ignoring Tash who is calling her name with increasing insistence.

“Dean! Dean stop!”

He’s heading down the alleyway at the side of the diner and so she follows him, wondering what kind of ‘I told you so’ Tash will give her when she’s murdered. The snow is coming slightly heavier now, deadening the sounds of life around them.

He’s breathing hard, which doesn’t help dispel her mind’s raging bull comparison, as his breath clouds around him on every exhale. It’s like he’s on the verge of a panic attack when suddenly he punches the wall _hard_. She winces because it’s brick and that would _seriously_ have hurt, but he doesn’t seem to even notice. The fairy lights Stan strung round the roofline flash red, blue, green, throwing this whole scenario into some kind of surreal nightmare.

It takes a moment before she realises that she’s still holding the phone and it’s now ringing in her hand. Dean seems oblivious that she’s even followed him, so she answers it quietly, praying it won’t be one of Stan’s suppliers – or worse – Stan.

“Alex? What’s going on?”

Sam. She’d said she’d ring him back so he must be out of his mind with worry by now. She can still hear the noise of the car in the background and she can picture him now, his speed edging from insane to suicidal. Dean has his head in his hands, the knuckles of his right hand swollen and bleeding.

“Um, I dunno. He overheard a customer talking and just freaked out.”

“Did he say anything?” Sam asks, and she realises they’re now just re-enacting the conversation she had with Tash only minutes before.

“Apparently when he jumped up he yelled ‘Alistair’, which I think is what the customer said. She wasn’t even talking to him.”

“Shit,” is Sam’s response, the invective more exhaled than spoken. 

“What? What is it, Sam?” she says, aware of her own rising fear. “I’m already probably gonna lose my job for this, so I don’t particularly want to end up _dead_ too.”

“I know, Alex, and believe me, I appreciate everything you’ve done for him,” he says, and then stops. “But Alistair... Alistair is someone who hurt Dean badly. _Really_ badly, a long time ago. Something happened to Dean recently that means he’s reliving a lot of that bad stuff. He’s not eating, he’s not sleeping, he gets confused.”

“Like, uh, like PTSD?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Is he getting any help?” she asks, her eyes never leaving the man in front of her in case he suddenly decides to do something. She hears Sam make a sound, but she’s not sure what it means.

“Unfortunately it’s not easy to find someone who’ll understand what Dean’s been through,” he says. “Plus, he’s not exactly big on accepting help.”

She thinks of Dean’s surprise and disbelief at her helping him, despite her repeated assurances that she’s doing it because she _wants to_.

“Yeah, I think I got that,” she replies.

“In a second, put the phone on speaker,” Sam commands. “But first, tell me where you are, what you can see, feel, _anything_.”

She glances around. 

“Uh, well it’s cold, _seriously_ cold and it’s snowing. We’re standing in the alleyway next to the diner where I work. There are flashing Christmas lights and then dumpsters and boxes, you know, usual alleyway stuff,” she finishes lamely, wondering what he’s going to do with this information.

“Okay great. Now put it on speaker.”

She does as he asks and holds the phone out.

“Dean. _Dean_.”

Alex holds her breath as she watches Dean tense. He looks round, glancing briefly at her before his attention is claimed by the phone in her hand. He frowns.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah, Dean it’s me. You okay, man?”

“I, uh, yeah...” 

Dean paces a little and she hopes he didn’t notice her flinch when he started to move. Behind her she realises Tash has appeared and she waves her hand in a gesture she hopes her colleague will correctly interpret as _I’m fine, please don’t blow this now_. To her relief, Tash steps back and out of view.

“Dean, you need to listen to me. I know where you are and I’m on my way to come pick you up, but you need to sit tight because it’ll be another couple of hours before I’m there. Can you do that for me?”

She watches as he closes his eyes, his expression pained.

“I dunno what’s real, Sammy. It’s all wrong. Everything’s telling me to run, but I don’t know why. I dunno what I’m even running _from_. And I’m tired, Sammy, really _fuckin_ ’ tired, but I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is...” He stops, like his train of thought has been derailed, and sweeps a hand across his lower face. 

“And now you’re havin’ to drive miles across the country because I’ve gotten myself lost like a, like a _fuckin’ kid._ You’d be better off without me, Sammy. ”

“ _No_.”

She hears the desperation and fear in Sam’s response and knows it must be killing him to be so far away at this point.

“You know that’s not how the world works for us, Dean,” he says, and it sounds as if he’s trying to keep control of his own emotions. 

“It’s you and me together... or nothing.”

She’s watching Dean’s reactions and he sighs, like he knows it’s true, but it frustrates him all the same. She thinks about her own brother – everyone always describes them as close, but it’s nothing compared to the relationship these two seem to have. She realises that she hasn’t spoken to Josh in over a week, since they’re always both so busy. There’s just never a good time. She’s pulled from her reflections by Sam’s voice as it comes back on the line, stronger this time.

“Okay, Dean. I need you to look around for me; tell me what you can see.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. Again, Alex senses that this is something they’ve done before.

“Uh, Christmas lights. Dumpster. Some poor chick holding a phone in the freezing cold while we play ‘I Spy’.”

When Dean glances at her, his expression is apologetic and she smiles. For the first time she feels warmth from him, like connecting with his brother his helping him re-discover his humanity. From the other end of the phone, Sam’s bark of laughter can be heard.

“It’s all real, Dean. _Everything_ you’ve just described is real. And that ‘chick’ you’ve just referred to is called Alex. You don’t know her, Dean and I don’t either, but she chose to help you. You hear me? A total stranger _chose_ to help you. And I don’t know why you find that so hard to comprehend, Dean – you’ve spent your whole life helping total strangers. Is it so crazy to believe that someone might want to do the same for you?”

She suddenly finds herself under Dean’s scrutiny, like he’s seeing her properly for the first time. This close, she realises that his eyes are green.

“It’s true, Dean,” she says, hoping Sam won’t mind her contributing. “Like I said to you before, everyone deserves a little kindness.”

No one speaks. Dean studies her for a moment and then slowly, a small, grateful smile starts to light his features, the expression chasing away the shadows that haunt him, even if just for a moment. He looks younger - a Dean that might have been, she thinks, if life hadn’t been so cruel to him. He nods, like maybe he can finally start to believe what she’s saying.

“Come back inside, Dean and wait for Sam,” she says gently. “It’s too cold out here and I can patch up your hand. You can sit in the back if you’d rather be away from people.”

She pauses while he considers her offer. Sam is evidently waiting to see what Dean will decide before he rejoins the conversation. She realises that, unlike all those hours ago when she first found Dean outside in the cold, he’s starting to shiver, like he’s finally connected with the here and now.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “But I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”

She shrugs because she can’t promise that it won’t, but she doesn’t really care anymore - some things are just more important.

Having heard this exchange, Sam’s relief is obvious as he speaks. 

“Dean, I’ll be with you soon, man, and Alex... thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies, before she ends the call and takes Dean back inside.

OoOoO

He’s quiet as he sits in their break room, but this time he drinks the coffee she brings him. He’s allowed her to clean up and bandage his bleeding knuckles and now he’s just there, waiting for Sam to arrive. She goes back to work, keeping one eye on him and generally willing closing time to roll around quickly.

It comes eventually and as Tash flips off the lights out front, she locks the door on their final customers of the day, their ‘Merry Christmasses!’ floating away into the night with them. Tash has not been near the break room, despite her assurances that Dean seems to be okay now. She can’t blame the teenager really – this whole situation has been seriously weird. 

Tash is also reluctant to leave, but she’s supposed to be at a party tonight. Alex promises her colleague that she’s okay and she’ll call to update her once Dean is safely on his way.

She’s wiping down the counter tops when there’s a soft knock on the door. She looks up, and through the bevelled glass she can make out a large figure, peering into the darkened diner.

There’s a light above the front door that she flicks back on, and despite the passage of years and the longer hair, she knows she’s looking at Dean’s younger brother – the ‘Sam’ that, she’s come to realise, fits the puzzle made up of only two pieces.

She unlocks the door.

Her first thought, beyond _Christ, he’s tall_ , is that he has incredibly kind eyes. He smiles politely as she opens the door, dimples hinted at, and it makes her wonder what he looks like when he’s truly happy. She’s struck by how two brothers can be so attractive in completely different ways.

“Alex?” he says.

“That’s me. And you must be the elusive ‘Sam’.”

His smile widens at her gentle teasing, but she knows the anxiety in his eyes won’t dissipate any until he’s seen the man he’s driven hundreds of miles for.

“He’s in here,” she says, re-locking the door and gesturing for Sam to follow her. She feels tiny next to him as they walk. 

In all honesty, she’s surprised that Dean hasn’t come out of the room, given they’ve been expecting Sam at any moment. They enter the break room and the reason becomes obvious – Dean has stretched across the battered couch Stan put in here and is soundly asleep, his bandaged hand resting lightly on his chest. She glances at Sam, his expression a tender mix of relief and affection. She remembers Dean’s lament about not being able to sleep and she knows Sam will be torn about waking him.

“Come on. Let me get you a drink.”

Sam sits on a stool at the counter while she makes him coffee. He looks tired and he tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle a couple of yawns.

“Here you go,” she says, pushing the steaming cup towards him.

“Thanks.” He takes a careful sip, then he’s studying her and despite the differences in appearance, his gaze equals his brother’s in intensity. 

She’s got a million questions she wants to ask – Professor Dalton had told her his name was Sam Smith, but she knows he was Sam Winchester at Stanford, which is presumably why the name had sparked some recognition with Dean, even if he hadn’t thought it was right. She’s wondering how to phrase any one of these questions without sounding suspicious, when he breaks the silence.

“So, you said you saw Dean sitting outside?” he says.

She nods, thinking back to all those hours ago. 

“He was just _there_. He looked so lost, I just couldn’t ignore him. I couldn’t believe he was sitting out there, in the cold.”

Sam’s expression indicates he’s thinking about what _could_ have happened to his brother, had she not taken him in. He looks weary with worry, and she recalls his earlier confirmation that this isn’t the first time that Dean’s gone missing.

“I really appreciate what you’ve done, Alex,” he says, “I can’t believe you managed to find me from the things Dean could remember. You really rang all those schools looking for me?”

She grins. “I did. I’ll just have to hope my boss is in a _really_ good mood when he gets his phone bill.”

Sam’s expression grows earnest. “I’m gonna leave you some money before we go, and if there’s anything else afterwards, then you give me a call, okay?”

“It’s okay,” she says, waving away his concern for her. “It was my choice to help.”

“And I’m so glad you did.” He stops for a moment, his gaze held by the blinking Christmas lights outside. 

“Dean... Dean’s really struggling at the moment and I’m trying to help him and keep him safe, but it’s not easy. Sometimes I’m not even sure he _wants_ to be helped.”

He looks pained at the admission. It seems like he doesn’t get many opportunities to unburden like this. 

“I don’t know how to get him to understand that I’m here for him. He won’t listen to me.”

“He was listening, before,” she replies. “I saw his face when you said ‘it’s you and me together or nothing’.”

“And I meant it.” His voice is fierce, determined. “I know this might sound weird, Alex, but he’s my world. For so many years, it was just the two of us – we’ve survived a lot and sacrificed more than anyone should ever have to. What happened to Dean... I thought I’d lost him forever, but, for once, we caught a break and I got him back. And now... Well, we’ve finally got the chance at a normal life, and even that’s not proving easy for us. 

“I’m stoked to be back at school and to have a future now, but none of it means anything without Dean. I wish I could get him to see that.”

“Careful, Sammy. Alex’ll think she’s walked into the middle of a chick flick.”

They both turn to see Dean emerging from the darkened break room, his hair sleep-mussed, a soft smile on his face. She glances at Sam, whose expression now mirrors his brother’s as he hurries around the counter to stand in front of the other man. 

It almost feels like an intrusion as she watches Sam gently cup Dean’s face in his large hands as he gives him a once-over. Evidently satisfied that Dean has come to no harm, he then pulls his brother into a firm embrace. Dean returns it, eyes closed, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder.

“Shit, Dean,” Sam says when they finally pull back from each other. “You really scared me, man.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean replies, and despite his gravelled tones, he sounds young and unsure. “I dunno what happened. I just got in the car... and then I was here and I couldn’t remember anything.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam says firmly. “No harm, no foul, right?”

“The car!” Dean says suddenly and his face falls. “I dunno where it is.”

“We’ll find it,” Sam reassures him. “But in the morning. We need to find ourselves somewhere to stay tonight.”

“Uh, I thought you might not want to drive back tonight, so I phoned round some places for you,” Alex says. When they look at her, she makes an apologetic face. “There wasn’t a lot of choice, in fact, there wasn’t _any_ choice, but at least it’s a room...”

“But?” Sam queries.

“But, it’s in a _themed_ motel; you know where they fix the rooms up to match the theme? I hope it’ll be okay for you.”

She watches as they both turn to look at each other and, all at once, they’re laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever said.

OoOoO

Stan gets his phone bill at the end of January. He queries the numerous out-of-state calls, noticing the looks Alex and Tash seem to be giving each other when he asks his staff if anyone knows anything about them. 

Alex comes to his office later and gives him the money for the extra calls. She tells him she was ringing friends to wish them Merry Christmas and she won’t do it again. He’s not in a good mood and he’s curt with her, despite her apology. Upset, she phones her brother, who offers her a shoulder to cry on. She’s been speaking to him a lot lately, despite their busy lives. She told him about what happened on Christmas Eve and how she realised they needed to _make_ time. It’s a change they’re both enjoying.

Shortly afterwards, Stan is approached by a customer. The man, dressed in a navy blue tie and rumpled trench coat, tells Stan that Alex is a wonderful employee and that her customer service makes her the greatest asset the diner has. He doesn’t go into detail, but he says Alex has done things – _important_ things - that even she doesn’t realise the significance of. 

Stan can’t ever recall seeing him in here, but since his heart attack, he does tend to take a day off here and there. When Stan asks him why he’s telling him all this, the man shrugs and tells him that he just thought he ought to know - that special people shouldn’t be taken for granted. To add to the mystery, when Stan describes the man to Alex, she doesn’t remember the customer either.

Afterwards Stan can’t recall exactly what it was that the man said, but he remembers that he was strangely persuasive, with his gruff voice and his intense blue eyes. 

Stan gives Alex a rise the very next day.

That night, as she’s celebrating her unexpected good fortune, Alex thinks about Dean, and Sam. She wonders how they’re doing and if they’re achieving their dreams of a normal life. Even though there’s no obvious link, she wonders if maybe there’s a connection between them and the man in the trench coat, because they were both part of strange events that have changed her life recently. Maybe one day she’ll see them again to ask them.

Maybe.

**End**


End file.
